A Son to Be Proud of
by Sabu.d
Summary: OneShot. Sequel on the way. It's supposed to be very mysterious, so I can't say much in the summary. Just read the important note before the story. WARNING: tearjerker.


Disclaimer: I do not own dbz.

**IMPORTANT: Ok, this story is in the point of view of an original character. I can't say much more, because that will ruin the fun of the story. The point is you are supposed to guess how she fits into the story of DBZ, (i.e. who she is, who she's related to, etc.) It's actually pretty obvious after a while, but that doesn't matter. Enjoy!**

I'm dimly aware of the droning voice going on about how great my father was. I'm not really listening. I don't need to hear it; I _know_ how great he was.

I never thought I'd ever have to attend my father's funeral,_ ever!_ Much less at the age of 16. Like all children, I guess the thought of him dying never occurred to me.

We were close. Freakishly close. Dad was my only parent. My mother died during childbirth, so he was all I had. Like I said, the thought of him dying was…_is_ foreign to me.

I guess it still hasn't really sunk in. I keep looking behind me, expecting dad to come running in late, as always, apologizing profusely for being held up at work. It's amazing, how that man could escape work easily any random day (which he did), but on the days he _had_ to leave, they would actually put up a fight. Kinda sad, when you think about it.

The old guy has stopped talking. I think we're all supposed to go see the body, and pay our last respects. I'll wait, and let all these other people go first. I'd rather be alone when I see him for the last time.

My grandfather seems to have the same idea. He's just sitting beside me, ignoring my grandmother as she tries to pull him to the casket. I'm a bit amazed. I figured Gram would be crying my now. She's a very emotional person.

Gram. Such an odd word. She refused to let me call her 'Gran', saying that it made her feel old. "How about Gram?" She had said. I replied that Gram reminded me of crackers in the shape of bears. Both dad and Gramps laughed…well, Gramps more of gave a dark chuckle, but anyway…

Since then, she has been my Gram. And I can't remember a time I didn't call my grandfather Gramps. I know that when I was younger, he would glare at me for the lack of respect, but then when I was old enough to retaliate, I started glaring at him when he called me 'Girl'. We're now ok with out family's weird form of nick-names.

I watch as my great-grandfather, and great-grandmother walk up to the casket. I help but frown at them. My father is dead, and yet those two old fossils are still alive. How is this fair?

I realize that saying this anywhere near my Gram will lead to a very loud shouting match that will only end when Gramps intervenes. And he'll take my side, of course.

I sometimes wonder if Gram ever gets sick of all her descendants liking her husband better than her. My dad was a Daddy's-boy, through and through. (though some will say otherwise) So was my aunt...er…well, she was a Daddy's-girl, but you get my point. I never really had any other option, but even with my grandparents, I like Gramps better.

People are now leaving the church. I few stopped by to tell me that they're sorry for my loss. I'm sure they are. A few made remarks about how sad I must be, to have lost both my parents in my young life. I don't correct them on the fact that my mother's death never really affected me. I never met her. I never knew her. I don't miss her. My dad told me about her all the time, but it's not really the same. Sure, like all kids who never met one of their parents, I wish I could have met her, but I don't miss her. Not like I miss my dad.

A few long strands of black hair fall in front of my face, and I wipe them away. Gram tried to make me put my hair in a bun, saying it would be more respectful if I did. I argued that dad really won't care if my hair is in a bun of not, because A) he's dead, and B) he's never cared before.

The church is pretty much empty, and Gramps is staring at me. This is my cue to pay my respects.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

I am now kneeling in front of my father's dead body. What in the hell am I supposed to say? Do people not realize how stupid this is? To talk to a dead body? But I still should, I guess.

What should I say? 'Hey dad. Hope you're having fun in the afterlife. Thanks for leaving me here by myself. Hope I don't see you soon, because that would mean I'm dead as well…unless you come back to life...which is your experience is quite possible…oh look. I'm rambling. Er…Have fun!'

Oh yeah. I'm sure Dad's soul would LOVE to hear that.

"Sally?"

My Gram's voice wakes me from my cynical daydreaming…and brings me back to my cynical reality. She wants me to get up. We have to go to the cemetery now. In a limousine. That's another stupid tradition. Well, every tradition is stupid in my opinion…ok; everything is stupid in my opinion.

"Sally. Come on, let's go."

Sally. Something else stupid. It's not even my name! Well, no one uses my real name, except Gramps when he feels like it, and Dad when I'm in trouble.

"Selerae."

…it appears Gramps is following in my father's footsteps. I think it's time to get up.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

I hate this. This stupid car ride is boring. People in all the other cars are staring at us, like they're thinking "Ooh! I wonder who died! Anyone I know?"

This is stupid. I want to go home. I don't want to watch my father being buried.

My hair is falling in front of my face again. I don't care anymore.

…not that is matters. Gram just pulled them out of my face.

"I wish you had at least tied your hair…" She sighs

"I like it like this." I answer.

"Having your hair so long and down like that is a liability in battle." Gramps mumbles. I can tell he's barely paying attention. He's just staring out the window, watching everything go by.

"Yes, but I'm not in battle right now, am I?" So I'm a little bitter today. It _is_ my father's funeral.

"Keep up that attitude and you may find yourself in one." He's bitter as well. But then again, he's _always _bitter.

I just huff, and look out the window on my side. Gram gives a sigh, apparently annoyed with all her relatives.

Maybe that's why none of us get along with Gram very well. She is the only person close to us who doesn't fight. But then again, it isn't in her blood like it is for us.

Yay. We are at the cemetery.

Hmmm…every time I think of funerals, they all take place in the rain, and it's dark and scary and a really bad day. And yet, today the sun is out, the birds are singing, and my father is dead.

I keep saying it, trying to get rid of the denial. I still don't really believe he's gone.

Some old guy just walked up, beside the tombstone and the casket, which is yet to lowered into the grave. Now he's talking about dad.

Ok. What the hell was the point of sitting through the old guy at the church if we have to listen to this guy as well?

I want to cry just out of sheer boredom.

This is interesting. It appears I am crying. I wonder how long this has been going on for.

Now this old guy has stopped talking. I am quite frightened that another will take his place.

Lookie. They are lowering the casket.

…they are lowing the casket…

They're…they're putting my father in the ground.

Why are they putting my father in the ground?

Stop. Stop it now.

Gramps is looking at me. It appears I said my last few thoughts out loud.

…er…out really loud because everyone here is staring at me. I want to glare back at them, but Gramps is doing it for me.

My father is completely in the ground…and now people are shoveling dirt on top of him.

Why are they doing this. No, they need to stop. They can't bury him. He's not dead. He is NOT dead!

I'm sobbing. Gramps has now pulled me into a warm embrace, and Gram looks as though she is holding back tears.

Why? Why did he die? Why are the burying him? Why am I the only one upset by this?

Everyone's staring at me again. I can't help but yell at them. (though this time I am aware that I am)

"None of you understand!" I scream. I feel like I have fallen into madness. Gramps is attempting to retain me, now that I am broken from his awkward hug. "None of you knew him! You're all sitting there, staring, like it's not real! Like he's just going to jump out of the casket or something! He's dead! My father is dead! He's not coming back! I get it, ok! You're all used to people dying and coming back whenever they feel like it, but I'm not! I'm not used to death! I'm not used to being without my dad! I want him back! I just want him back!"

I fall back into Grams' arms, sobbing my heart out.

I think I have completely broken down…well, maybe not completely. How often do people who have broken down completely think 'I've completely broken down'?

Gramps is leading me away from everyone. We're leaving the cemetery for the moment.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

We're at an amusement park. It's right beside the cemetery.

Who the hell puts a park right beside a cemetery? What? Is it so that the dead people can have some fun at night?

Gramps is chuckling. I really have to stop voicing my thoughts.

"Sit." He says firmly, pointing at a bench. I sit, as does he.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, neither knowing what to say.

"Why did he have to die?" I say suddenly. I don't know what possessed me to. Heh. Maybe it was dad.

"I don't know."

Odd. I actually wasn't expected a response.

"I…I can't really accept it…I mean, I KNOW he's dead. I KNOW he's not coming back, and yet…I keep thinking he's going to appear…show up out of nowhere…" I trail off…I don't want to continue. Gramps gives a sigh.

"I know what you mean. I have it even worse. I still haven't really gotten over the fact he grew up, let alone died. I still expect him to come running up to me, interrupting my training to say hi, or get a small amount of attention…and now he's gone…"

I give my Gramps an odd look. I think that's the most he's said to me, ever. He's never really been one to talk. We just all understood what he meant.

I wipe away any remnants of tears, and stand up, ready to go back to the cemetery. Gramps gets up as well, and we walk back together.

When we get there, everyone's left but Gram. I like it better this way.

I go to look at the tombstone. I know it sounds bad, but I never saw it before now.

I read the inscription, and tear up again. The last line, written much bigger than the rest of the inscription is perfect. It's my father in one sentence; everything he wanted to be, everything he ever was. I hear Gramps give a chuckle behind me, and when I look at him, he's wiping one eye casually.

"Allergies?" I grin at him.

"Obviously." He smirks back.

We both make our way back to the limo, but not before I cast one last look at the tombstone:

_Trunks Vegeta Briefs_

A Skilled Fighter, A Loving Father, A Good Friend;

**A Son to Be Proud of**

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

**This, again, is a great example of one of my stories that sounded much better in my head, but it still came out nice. I'm proud of it. I might add more chapters, depending on how much people like it. The next chapter's will just be how Sally's life continues after the funeral. Tell me what you think!**


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